


(I Remember) When She Loved Me

by megnlv



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Injury, Conditioning, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Mom Mercy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Violence, past reaper76, the talon!tracer au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8371885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megnlv/pseuds/megnlv
Summary: How Talon acquires one ex-pilot Lena Oxton at her lowest and how the light of Overwatch becomes public enemy number one, finding an unlikely connection with Talon's most prized assassin along the way.(on hiatus)





	1. something bad happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright kids, buckle up 'cause this is going to be a long ride.

The streets of London were unsafe.

Lena Oxton kept to the side roads, dipping into the shadows of alleyways and out of public eye. Downtown London had dispersed into chaos - a once peaceful rally for Human-Omnic equality turned angered riot. Citizens, humans more so than the omnics, shattered car windows and chanted with their fists and their signs high up in the air. Police and security teams armed to their teeth, on extremely high alert, struggling to control them while seeking out the assassin that’d taken out one of the most popular and treasured advocates for peace.

Stealth, what with her chronol accelerator and unrestrained personality, was not Lena’s strong suit and much less so when she was wounded, but she’d been given little choice. She had intervened, and she had failed to save Mondatta from being assassinated, and there was word around the street that the authorities have been alerted that the _infamous ex-pilot Tracer_ had been spotted on the scene by a certain young girl’s mother.

Now the subject of a manhunt, given all Overwatch activities were illegal because of the Petras Act, Lena hobbled down back roads and further away from the riots, covering her accelerators blue glow with her jacket to the best of her ability as sirens wailed and helicopters circled the city above her. Her goggles hung idle around her neck, and one of her arms looped around her torso to hold her throbbing ribs.

The fall was ugly. Lena’s head was reeling, and her body ached with every movement; not to mention the menacing sparks and crackles her accelerator kept making. But she pushed forward anyway, because she was Tracer, and that’s what she always did.

She would keep going, even if it felt like her knees would betray her and buckle at any second, even if her vision blurred around the edges. She needed to keep going.

Lena’s old apartment in the East End was questionably safe to return to, so she was headed in the opposite direction with one destination in mind: _Haven 227_ . One out of three of the out-of-commission safehouses Overwatch set up around London, where she could communicate back to Gibraltar and wait for transport to pick her up. She would use her comm, but it’d been smashed to bits when Widowmaker smacked her against the side of the building she fell from. Lena wasn’t too enthused with the idea of waiting either; she lost too much _time_ that way, and she needed to make every second count.

But she was injured, so there was really no debate. There was not much else that she could do except for hide, as much as it grated her in doing so.

The approaching wail of sirens pushed Lena deeper into the shadows of the alleyway, her back pressed up against a brick wall varnished with spray painted Anti-Omnic graffiti. Her teeth ground together at the quickness of the movement, a hissing breath sucked through them. She was only a few blocks away from the safehouse, and once she was there she could finally kick her feet up and wait for Mercy without risking injuring herself further.

Just a few more blocks. She could do that, no problem.

A police car, followed by two others, sped passed the entrance of the alley, tires kicking up water from that afternoon’s bout of rain. Lena waited until they were mostly out of earshot before pushing off of the wall and stumbling forward. The toe of her shoe caught on a loose piece of cobblestone, throwing her off balance, and Lena just managed to catch herself with her hands before she hit the ground. Jarring pain shot up her arms at the force of the landing, like a fire in her bones, and Lena couldn’t stop the gasping cry that keeled from her throat.

Vertigo made it difficult to straighten herself out, but after giving herself a few moments to catch her breath and steady herself, Lena managed to get back onto her feet.

She arrived at Haven 227 just before midnight struck, face pale body heavy, legs feeling as if they’d give out at any moment.

The Safehouse was set up in an abandoned warehouse off the corner of an alley, with plenty of room in the back parking lot for a dropship landing if needed. Lena sapped the only source of light from her malfunctioning accelerator as a guide through the glass doors and up a flight of stairs, which was more taxing than need be, until she arrived to her destination.

From years of remaining untouched, almost everything inside was coated with a thick layer of dust, coagulated with the pungent scent of old mothballs. The air was stale and decrepit from poor ventilation and dust particles, visible through the cracks of light from the window curtains, leached onto any remaining moisture in the room - and any that didn’t had nowhere else to go but into her lungs.

Safehouses were not designed to be inhabited for very long. Ages ago, in a time where Lena had just been getting used to the clunky piece of metal strapped to her chest, she and Winston had worked together setting up sanctuaries around the globe for Overwatch agents should they need a place for respite after a mission, or if they were trapped and needed a place to wait out for transport without making themselves public. They were predominantly stocked with a few shelves of canned foods, a communication radio, a bed and a rustic couch, and half empty bookshelves with newspapers dating back to 2070. Near the bathroom, in the small excuse for a kitchen, there was a microwave and a mini fridge - now unplugged and likely, _hopefully,_ emptied out.

The door closed behind her with a soft click. Lena stood, unsteady on her feet, in the doorway for a moment longer before hobbling to the radio and unceremoniously dumping herself into the chair in front of it. Her ribs burned indigently, and the accelerator sparked as she curled her arm around her torso to hold herself steady. The constant thrum of it was now disturbed and grating - and it made Lena’s heart jump to think it could give at any moment.

Of course, the radio was offline, but even through the throes of her likely concussed thoughts, Lena was able to get it up and working again in minutes, signing herself in with fingerprint recognition. The holoscreen blinked to life, flickering marginally with static after years of being disconnected. Lena squinted against its harsh light, reaching to move trembling fingers along the screen and searching out Mercy’s contact information.

Her finger hovered above the older woman’s identification tag. Dr. Angela Ziegler, child prodigy, someone who Lena considered like a surrogate mother, with a smile and all the grace that could make people wonder if she really was some kind of Godsent saint - who could just as easily turn around and make Satan himself cower if you rubbed her the wrong way.

She was going to _kill_ her.

Bollocks.

Lena pressed down, finally, and cautiously leaned back into her seat when the words _Outgoing Call To: Mercy_ blinked on the screen. She waited only seconds before the call went active.

“...Lena?” Her name came with caution, and the soft lilt of an accent. Lena could imagine the look on Angela’s face; brows dipped forward, the corners of her mouth titled into a confused frown.

“Hiya, love!” Lena greeted, forcing a small smile on her face despite the fact that it wasn’t a video chat. Her breath rattled as she inhaled, pain flaring in her chest. Hearing Angela’s voice was enough to soothe the coil of anxiety because of her chronol accelerator alone. “So, uh, here’s the thing, Ang. I kind of - well, ran into a _bit_ of a situation at the peace rally I told you I was going to.”

“What kind of situation?” Angela asked, this time more alert than the last. The concern in her tone was palpable now, words stern with professionalism yet addled with something akin to a mother’s anxiety. Lena resisted the urge to flinch. She didn’t like worrying Angela. “What is your status, Lena?”

The couch that bubbled from her chest was involuntary, and left the back of her throat tasting of copper. When she pulled her arm away from her mouth, there was a small splatter of blood in the crook of her elbow. _Rubbish._ “A little banged up, if I’m honest,” Lena answered, trying to keep her voice as optimistic as possible. The word of Mondatta’s assassination must not have globally gotten out yet. “I’m gonna need an extraction as soon as possible. Kinda need to keep away from my apartment, so I’m shacked up at Haven 227 for the moment.”

“Winston has alerted Athena and is preparing aircraft for your location now. We will be there in a few hours,” Angela explained. There was a shuffle on the other line, a muffled indecipherable voice carrying over the reciever - likely her favorite scientist himself. “What happened?”

“Had a little scuffle with Widowmaker at Kings Row,” Lena told her, with only a hint of hesitance. “She assassinated Tekhartha Mondatta.”

The brief pause that followed said enough of their reaction, and Lena’s fingernails dug into the fabric of her gauntlets. “That woman is dangerous, Lena. I have told you countless times to stop actively seeking her out and yet you continue to throw yourself in her path.” Angela eventually said, in that guarded tone she always got whenever someone mentioned the Widowmaker. Lena could hear the doctor’s exasperation, could imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose with her index finger and her thumb. On the other line, Angela sighed. “Give me a run down.”

“My ribs might be fifty shades of purple right now,” Lena begun, rolling one of her aching shoulders. “My chest feels a bit tight but it’s - it’s not so bad! I think I might have a concussion though, and my accelerators acting a b-bit dodgy. Winston will need to take a peek at it.” Lena winced at the fracture in her words, that sliver of concealed panic sneaking through her facade. “...Did I mention that I took a nasty fall off the side of a building?”

“Herrgott, Lena. You are going to give me grey hair.” Angela sounded pained.

“Don’t worry, love. Not as bad as it sounds, honest!”

“We are on our way,” Angela sighed. “Hang tight. I will be there soon.”

* * *

 “ _W_ _ake up, kid_.”

Lena came to with a twitch, and woke to two blurry figures hovering over her.

It was Angela, of course it was, clad in civvies with the Star of David hung on a golden chain around her neck rather her Valkyrie suit, and the one who had gruffly woken her up - Solider: 76, a matured man with a permanent chip on his shoulder, face obscured beneath a tactical visor that allowed him to see clearly. Without it, he could see very little; shapes and silhouettes, but mostly unable to recognize physical objects. He’d gone by another name once, Commander Jack Morrison, back from the dead. He was the shell of her old Commander now, quiet and isolated, but a reassuring and confident presence, every bit the soldier he always was.

When Overwatch was recalled, he’d kept it a secret from them - all but Winston, who could recognize his scent, but had sworn to keep quiet because it was not his secret to tell. Revealing himself to be alive, after years of being presumed dead, after a wake and a funeral, tensions had been high between him and many of the other old Overwatch agents, Lena herself included. It’d taken a while for her to warm up to him again.

Reinhardt had cried, the poor gentle giant. Angela had nearly slapped him.

Lena shifted. She was lying uncomfortably on the couch, one arm draped across her middle as it ached something fierce, her head pounding as if someone had taken a hammer to it and a vague but threatening feeling that she may vomit. After communicating back at Headquarters, Lena vaguely remembered stumbling over to the couch and laying down, just to rest her eyes for a little. Apparently, she had rested for longer than she anticipated.

Then, as quick as she had opened her eyes, Mercy was shoving a flashlight in her face. Lena grimaced and pushed her hand away, seeing spots. “Bloody hell, Angie! Coulda gave me a warning!”

Above her, Angela seemed far less than apologetic; wielding her flashlight still with one hand and the other on the curve of her hip. “I need to check your eyes,” she chastised, unimpressed. Lena wanted to sink into the couch at the look she was giving her. “If you are concussed and your eyes are dilated, you risk falling into a coma by sleeping. Let me do my job and take a look at you.”

“Should do it fast,” Soldier grumbled, peeking through one of the drawn curtains and out into the city in chaos. “D.Va’s waiting with the dropship outside. Don’t want to attract any unwanted attention this way.”

“Must say,” Lena began through gritted teeth as Angela helped her sit up, shining that flashlight in her eyes. “I didn’t expect a visit from both mum _and_ dad.”

“I’m not your father.”

“Sure thing, love.”

Angela rolled her blue eyes, tucking the light into the pocket of her jacket. Her mouth opened to speak, likely on the verge of a lecture, when Lena’s accelerator gave an acute spark. Angela jumped in time with Lena’s heart. She gave a wavering smile at the older woman. “Told ya it was on the fritz.”

“Let’s move out. You can treat her in the medbay,” Soldier ordered. “Can you walk, Tracer?”

“No,” Angela said sternly, before Lena could answer herself. Her arms crossed, hands gripping opposite biceps and her chin raised as if daring Soldier to defy her. The woman was a force to be reckoned with when she wanted to be; hard to believe that she was, without question, one of the strongest people Lena had ever met when she seemed so porcelain and fragile on the outside. “I haven’t fully examined her yet and I can tell you that if she takes another step down those stairs she will fall and break her neck. It’s a miracle she even made it up at all. So unless you’d like to stay here longer, you may carry her the rest of the way.”

Gauging Jack’s reaction deemed impossible. What with the visor covering his face, he was as expressionless as an omnic was. He angled his head toward Lena, for a moment standing idle, before swiftly slipping passed Angela and gathering up Lena with one deft motion. It through her for a bit of a loop; her entire body seizing with protest, a hissed breath through her teeth when he hoisted her into a perfect bridal hold.

“C’mon,” Soldier said gruffly. Lena could almost feel the vibrations of his voice through his leather jacket.

Resistance against Angela Ziegler’s tenacity was futile.

Mercy led them down the stairs and to the back exit of the warehouse, through a pair of battered metal doors. The dropship was hovering just a few mere inches above the pavement. Piece of scrap compared to Lena's Orca, hunks of metal by the looks of it, but likely the best that could be sent out on short notice without attracting attention and without her in the cockpit. Angela spoke into the communicator in her ear, and the ramp for entrance slid out only seconds later.

Jack ambled inside with Lena first, while Angela followed. “Put her here,” the older woman said, patting at the seat adjacent to the bench she delicately perched herself on. He obliged before unceremoniously dropping into the one across from them. A man of little words indeed.

“‘Sup scrubs?”

Lena’s eyes traveled to the source of the words; the high pitched voice, lightly accented, belonging to the younger girl peeking her head around from the cockpit. Hana Song stuck out her hand, mimicking a peace sign, and blew a bubble of her gum until it burst. “That was quick - whoa, Lena, you look like shit." If there hadn't been that hint of concern in her voice, Lena might have been offended.

“Thanks, Han,” Lena grouched, in time with Angela and Soldier’s simultaneous scolding about Hana’s language.

Hana rolled her eyes. As much as she insisted that she was not a child - and, with what she has been through at her age, her argument was justifiable - Angela and Jack both had the tendency to coddle her. Though their aversion to swearing was not limited to Overwatch’s youngest and newest member, Lena understood that it bothered her a great deal and more often than she let on. Lena could hardly blame them though, seeing Hana as the younger sister she never had, but respected Hana’s wish to not be treated like a child. “You guys all ready to go? I don’t like to keep my fans waiting.”

Soldier grunted in acknowledgment. “Take us home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy, okay. so, I'm planning on posting a chapter every Thursday if college/work allow it - I'll try to keep on track with this as much as I can! this is going to be a big one, so get ready. the amount of chapters will likely change later on (to probably 30).
> 
> please leave your thoughts and/or predictions! comments are worth a 100 kudos and they will definitely motivate me to keep updating on a frequent schedule so I know people are interested. I’m really excited to get this baby moving so let me know what you thought below :)
> 
> you can catch me @ madame-lacroix on tumblr!! xx


	2. not tomorrow yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lots of background with a fresh helping of guilt

Two months had passed since Winston’s recall. It had taken some effort to get Watchpoint: Gibraltar, nestled in the cliffside just off the sea, secure again after Talon’s surprise infiltration. Accommodations had been made once old agents and new began responding to him - mostly exclusive to Athena’s diagnostic repairs rather than adjustments to the hospitality or the living conditions of the Watchpoint for it’s arriving operatives. It’d not taken much to clean up Lena’s quarters, which had been stacked with old equipment and manila files in cardboard boxes, but her closet still smelled a little of old mothballs.

It was a wonder, considering how much air freshener Lena had sprayed in there.

The medbay had taken the least time to refurnish. The old setup and supplies were, at best, outdated in comparison to the state of the art facilities Angela had back at the hospital she was stationed in after Overwatch disbanded, and even at the Swiss Headquarters. And, living almost a decade through abandonment, Winston’s presence limited mostly to his lab, the kitchen and not much else, it was well overdue for a good Spring Cleaning and upgrade until it was cleared for proper usage.

Now, it smelt of antiseptics and latex gloves, and looked as well-functioning as a decommissioned medbay could get after only a couple weeks of being back in active service. With the help of sanitation bots and Angela’s stickler determination for tidiness, she was able to get it cleaned up and running after only 72 hours after responding to the recall. She had not been keen on the idea of treating patients behind a plastic curtain in an unsterilized break room. Lena was uncertain of whether or not that was purely a stubborn aesthetic choice or more so the fact that it ran the risk of infection.

The germicidal was an assault on Lena’s sense of smell, and her headache doubled each second she spent sat on the examination chair. She longed for the comfort of her own room and a pillow to lay her head on - or scream into.

“You are unusually quiet,” Angela observed as she wrapped Lena’s discolored ribs with white gauze. Her nanotechnology had helped ease the pain and tightness in her chest, and made it easier to breathe, but the fractures would need time to heal on their own. Her lower lip was drawn between her teeth in the way she always did when she was concentrating on her work. Lena had been in the medbay enough times to notice those miniscule traits by now. “Is it your head bothering you?”

“Somethin’ like that, love,” Lena murmured, not much in the mood for initiating conversation. Her eyes remained locked on Winston’s amble back across the room, hunched over her malfunctioning chronal accelerator and grumbling to himself. Her fingers dug into the leather fabric beneath her, grip white knuckled, a lump of anxiety lodged in her throat.

It was just across the room.

She was _fine._

After arriving back at Gibraltar, Winston had ambled in with his tools to take a look at what was wrong while Lena was being treated for her injuries. Lena, with the help of Angela because her movements were quite limited, removed the harness with great care, as she always did - and nearly had a heart attack when he’d taken it away from her and lumbered away. It’d taken a great deal of coercing, and while Winston spelled it out for her that he would be within enough range of her for its effect to maintain, he wasn’t the most reassuring blokes around.

Being more than a foot away from her accelerator set Lena on edge; and she wasn’t sure if it was just worse now solely because her concussion was affecting her emotions.

“Your accelerator took most of the damage from the fall,” Angela explained, leaning back. “Multiple contusions to your torso and legs, grade 2 concussion, acute tendon strains in your ankle, a dislocated shoulder, 3 non-displaced rib fractures...This had the potential to be a lot worse than it was. Falling from such a height could have very easily cracked your skull open or even punctured your lungs. You are very lucky to be alive, Lena.”

“Winston’s always said luck’s been on my side. Isn’t that right, big guy?” Lena called over Angela’s shoulder, though she did not _feel_ very lucky. Winston lurched at being addressed so suddenly, before turning.

“Mostly. Although you tend not to take things very seriously because of it,” he observed. Having noticed Lena’s eyes flicker from him to her accelerator, he changed courses, clearing his throat. “A few more adjustments are required, and it will be good as new. A minor blemish, nothing to be worried about.”

“Didn’t really seem like it,” Lena said, chewing her bottom lip.

“Things often look worse than they are,” Angela said. “The injuries you sustained, for example-”

Lena tuned her out and stared down at her fingers in her lap, having long since removed her gauntlets. There was a band-aid on her pinky finger, decorated with tiny green frog heads, courtesy of Lúcio when she’d accidentally cut herself with a kitchen knife a day earlier. Usually, it was unlike her to turn a deaf ear on anybody she even remotely care for - Angela certainly had some interesting things to say every now and then, despite the fact that most of her medical tangents went right over Lena’s head - but her mind began drifting astray. It was times like this where Lena wished to just be alone. That way, she could muse over everything that went wrong in private.

Mondatta had died because she’d chosen to blink out of the way rather than sacrifice herself for the greater good; rather than do her job protecting those who need her protection. He had died because Lena was scared - no, because she was _terrified._ How was she ever supposed to live with that? How was that even fair?

How could she be sitting here, in Gibraltar, instead of being back at home in London, helping clean up the mess that she inevitably made? The chaos that’d ensued, all the violent riots and damage done: it’d likely escalate.

And she was here, doing _nothing_.

“Lena?” Winston’s deep voice cut through her line of thought, "Are you alright?”

“Just a bit knackered is all,” she responded, mustering up a warm smile of false reassurance - but the way Winston and Angela were looking at her, skeptical yet ridden with concern, was as if they could see right through her.

“That's not all,” said Winston knowingly, pushing up his glasses. He ambled closer to the examination chair where Lena sat, accelerator tucked carefully beneath one strong arm; she felt instantly better having it within her grasp. He leaned back onto his haunches with a _thump._ “You're blaming yourself for what happened with Mondatta.”

Lena’s shoulders stiffened. Her gaze fell stubbornly to the floor, expression stony.

“You can’t think what happened was your fault-” Winston began.

“I was _there,_ Winston,” Lena snapped, glancing back up at him. It was like a taut rope being pulled and pulled until it finally severed in half from the strain. She grit her teeth, fighting to restrain the way her lower lip precariously trembled. Yet still, through it all, unable to stop the warm tears that welled in her eyes. One trickled down the soft curve of a freckled cheek. “I did everything that I could, everything I was taught to do, but it just wasn’t enough! I could have - I could have done _more._ If I just didn’t blink out of the way…”

“Then you would have died, Lena.”

“At least he’d still be alive!” She cried. Winston set down the accelerator beside her, spic-and-span, and Lena reached to grab for it instinctively, hugging it close to her chest. She felt it’s familiar thrum beneath her fingertips, soft, consoling in ways she couldn’t explain. “He’d still be alive.” The words left her in a muted whisper. She hated the way she sounded so defeated.

There was a beat of silence. Angela, who had gone quiet during the altercation, chewed at the inside of her cheek before stepping up. “Widowmaker is one of the world’s greatest assassins,” she said. “There is not many who can go up against her the way you have. In fact, I don’t believe I’ve heard of anyone who has bested her so far. I know that it is hard not to feel responsible - it’s the most natural human reaction. But you did all that you could do. Widowmaker would have found a way to hit her mark regardless of what you did.”

“Sometimes we don’t always win,” Winston said. Lena knew, subconsciously, that he was speaking of their mission at the museum. “A hard concept to accept, sometimes, in times like these.”

“Oh look at me, bein’ a right downer.” Lena rubbed the heel of her palm against her eye, sniffling. “I’m sorry, loves. I’ll be okay, really.” Looking back up at them, two of her most closest friends, her family, she was unable to abstain from a watery smile.

“There it is,” Angela said. The bridge of her nose crinkled in that doting way she did whenever she found something endearing. “Smiling again in no time, as usual.”

“Not much can hold me back,” Lena said with a breathy laugh. She felt drained. “Gotta make the most of it!”

“Yes, and you certainly keep me busy,” Angela mused quietly as she stepped back and flicked blonde fringe away from her eyes, nodding to herself. “You’re able to hold a conversation exceptionally enough, so I don’t need to monitor you here overnight, though I’d like to check how your cognition is in the morning. In the meantime, you can sleep, so I can accompany you back to your room.”

“Aw, you don’t have to go out of your way!”

“Nonsense,” Angela said, batting a gentle dismissive hand. “You will likely still be unsteady on your feet. Come.”

Lena shifted to carefully attach the harness around her torso. It bore a certain heaviness that her ribs protested against, though minutely at best. Angela was there with an arm around her waist the moment her legs touched the floor, weak from lack of use and exhaustion and sore from the fall. Her head spun, throbbing indignantly, and though her pride might have been wounded she was glad for the help.

Winston followed them out of the medbay and wished them goodnight before disappearing, likely off to sleep on the hammock he’d set up in his lab. Lena had once jokingly called him a hermit scientist, to which he’d pleasantly laughed off, but the statement was, mostly, true.

The fact that he’d spent so much time in his lab was the reason why Lena was even here today. Without him, she had no idea where she would be - what timeline, or if she’d even exist at all.

They make it back to Lena’s quarters within only a few minutes, the corridors silent as the remaining agents slept - pardon Hana, who was still clearly awake if the light through the crack of her bedroom door was any indicator. Lena shuffled inside, automatically thanking Angela for her assistance, and made an immediate beeline for her desk drawer, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

Angela’s disappointment could be felt from nearly across the room as Lena sank into the bean chair at the window, cracking it open. When she glanced up from the pack in her hand, the older woman’s lips were pursed, blue eyes narrowed slightly with judgement. Lena pressed the filter of a cigarette between her lips and tossed the pack aside, flicking the spark wheel of the lighter with her thumb. “You gonna lecture me?” She questioned, voice muffled, cupping her palm and bending to light the cigarette.

“No.” Was Angela’s unforeseen answer. She lowered herself onto the edge of Lena’s bed, graceful as ever, across from her. “You don’t listen to me whenever I do. There is no use when you already are aware of how much I dislike you smoking, and you continue to despite the increase in the risk of throat and lung cancer. You and Jesse are the same that way.”

Lena pulled in a long drag of smoke, cheeks sucked in, and stared for a long while out of the window. The nicotine worked instantly, soothing over every frayed nerve in her system; although she felt a little more light headed than she usually would have, and her ribs still harshly disagreed with the stronger intakes of breath. “Old habits die hard, I guess,” she said, shrugging her uninjured shoulder slightly. She watched the cigarette burn as she rolled it between her thumb and index finger. “It’s just been a really rough night, Angie. I need this.”

Angela sighed, and her shoulders relaxed although her distaste evident still. A moment of silence, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, passed between them before the doctor spoke again. “Will you tell me what else is going on, child?”

She frowned, exhaling smoke through the open window. “Whaddya mean ‘what else’?”

“I love you, Lena, as if you were my own,” Angela said fondly, sounding every bit a mother ill at ease. “I just want you to be alright, and I do not want to see you keep hurting yourself because you are pursuing something that perhaps you shouldn’t be.”

Lena stared at her for a moment longer before turning away. She found it hard to say her next words beneath that stare. “She was your best friend, yeah? Before?”

She could see Angela shift marginally in her peripheral vision by the unexpected question. “I’m sorry?”

“Amélie,” Lena clarified. “You two were best friends.”

“We were.” Was Angela’s eventual reply. Hesitant and melancholic all at once. “I loved her very much.”

“Everyone loved her,” said Lena. Despite the draining lack of energy, she managed a small smile. “Impossible not to love her, really. Gérard...He spoke of her so often I felt like I knew her before I even met her. I know I wasn’t nearly as close with her as you were, but I wish that I’d been. Truthfully I, well, I knew that it was wrong. She was married and Gérard was my mentor. He was my _friend._ But I couldn’t help but have these _feelings_ for her, like some proper schoolgirl crush, y’know? I couldn’t stop it. I tried, but I just couldn’t. I was only just a kid.”

“Well if we’re being truthful, you weren’t very discreet about it,” Angela said. Her mouth quirked, just shy of a smile, expression nostalgic but not without a hint of sadness in her otherwise kind eyes. Lena didn’t like to make her sad; not at all. “I believe everyone on base could tell, including Amélie herself. I don’t suppose I can blame you.”

“Yeah. She was wonderful, wasn’t she?” Lena quipped. “I do what I do ‘cause Amélie deserves to have somebody fighting for her. She deserves that much, and so does Gérard for what it’s worth.”

Angela was quiet, thin shoulders suddenly rigid.

Lena took this as a means to continue. “I don’t expect you to understand,” she said. She tapped the ash from her cigarette out the crack of the window, eyes lingering at the glowing embers caught with the wind. Lena couldn’t stop the words that rose from her throat. Perhaps it was the concussion, severely impairing her judgement for being cautious of overstepping boundaries. “Everyone gave up on her after she killed him. I remember. Everyone did, ‘cept me and Reyes. Cap Amari too, but...Anyway, I just - I can understand why. If Talon could take a woman like Amélie and turn her into something like _that_? Seems understandable you’d think she was too far gone to be helped.”

She could sense Angela’s eyes on her, piercing baby blues, and sighed. “But like I said, I just can’t stop. I won’t. If that means being caught in the crossfire, then so be it. ‘Sides, if you wanna look on the bright side of things, she keeps me on my toes.”

“That is hardly a bright side,” Angela chastised. There was a certain crossness to her voice that hadn’t been there before. The older woman glanced away from her, to the numerous photographs Lena had haphazardly taped to the wall for decoration, just to fill the space. “She came to me, weeks before her kidnapping. She told me she would never be used against her family, against Gérard. I dismissed her, delusioned with the thought that Overwatch, for all that we do, would not let it come to that.”

Lena watched as Angela looked everywhere but her face. She pulled in a drag of smoke, head lolling against the back of the bean chair, too exhausted to keep it upright.

“I was the one to examine her when we rescued her,” Angela continued. “Thoroughly. More than once, in fact. Besides the expected dehydration and malnutrition, there was virtually _nothing_ wrong. I mulled over what I could have missed for weeks, months after Gérard.”

Frowning softly, Lena said; “His death isn’t on you, love.”

Angela shook her head and cleared her throat delicately. When their eyes met again, Lena recognized the look in her eyes. It was the same one she often found in herself. “I did not want to give up on her, I just cannot allow myself to believe that there is anything left of Amélie to recover, not after all that she’s done. Every time you throw yourself at her I think of what she did to Gérard - I think of how easily she can take someone else from me. It frightens me more than I can explain to you, Lena. I cannot have that happen to someone again.”

The gentle crash of ocean waves against the shore could be heard from the open window, the only sound in a brief moment of silence. “I don’t mean to scare ya,” Lena said eventually, drawing her lower lip between her teeth.

“I know you don’t. I worry regardless, I always will.”

She said nothing.

“It’s late,” Angela observed as she rose to her feet, a clear indication that the conversation was over. “I should head back to my quarters before Fareeha starts to wonder where on earth I am.”

Lena smiled cheekily, although a bit more solemnly. “Don’t want to keep your shining knight waiting.”

“I’d better not see you awake until after 10 in the morning. You need the rest,” Angela said. She reached and brushed Lena’s hair away from her eyes, smile so fond that Lena found it impossible to protest getting more than 8 hours of sleep when there was so much that she could be doing in that time instead. “I’ll drop off some APAP for your pain in the morning. Sleep well, liebling.”

“Aye Aye, Dr. Ziegler. Night!” Lena saluted her, watched Angela’s back as she reached the door to her bedroom and stepped out into the corridor, shutting the door with a soft _click_ behind her.

Lena was left alone. Head reeling, heart much too heavy, a loud silence left in the doctor’s wake. Moonlight spilled from the now closed window, casting light in the shadows of her bedroom not accentuated by the glow of her functioning accelerator. Earlier, she had craved the peace of being alone after such a coarse night. Now, as Lena sat with aching ribs in a worn out bean chair, smelling of tobacco smoke and a little like antiseptic, she thought she would much rather be anything _but_ alone.

Sleep was always so much easier that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so I’ll be out of country after the 5th for two weeks, so since I won’t be able to update on the following Thursday (the 10th) I decided to post this one earlier so I can get out chapter 3 and have time to finish up 4-6 before I leave.
> 
> your support has been wonderful so far, guys! we’re going to start diving more into plot within the next few chapters, so hang tight. let me know what you all thought about this one!! hearing back from you is incredibly motivating, I can’t say that enough :)
> 
> as always, find me @ madame-lacroix on tumblr if you would like to discuss / drop me a message!
> 
> next week's chapter title preview: Smart Money’s On Speedy


	3. smart money's on speedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i am but a simple bartender i have no idea how military debriefings work

“Good morning, everyone,” Winston greeted, adjusting wire-framed glasses sat askew on his great nose. “I apologize for calling you all here on such short notice. We have a lot to discuss today.”

They were in the debriefing room.

Winston, at the head of an oval white table made of fiberglass, was comfortably sat back on his haunches. Soldier: 76 was at his right, posture the epitome of an expectant leader, scarred face hidden beneath his tactical visor. Around them were an assortment of files in large manila folders, a holopad dead center of the table displaying various news articles addressing the recent crisis commencing throughout the United Kingdom.

One Atlas News headline read:

> _“Violence Between The Authorities and Pro-Omnic Rights Protestors Has Broken Out Across London.”_

Some, but not all, of the new ragtag Overwatch team were also present, Lena herself among the few. She sat at Winston’s left, a buffer seat between the two - across from her, Angela and Fareeha huddled close together. Mccree was sitting adjacent to Lena, cigar unlit between his teeth for the good doctor would surely wring his neck otherwise, and Hana, who she had seen chug two five-hour energy bottles on the way here, sat to his left. Reinhardt, Torbjörn and Genji were also present, although the Shimada had chosen to stand in the doorway of the briefing room, metallic arms crossed over his chest plate.

Lena understood why the conference had been called after what had happened the night before, though she would rather be back in the comfort of her own bedroom.

Sleep had come eventually, however not very easily. Lena had found it impossible to get comfortable, what with the constant discomfort of her healing ribs, turning every which way until she eventually gave up. She’d fallen asleep shortly after that, exhaustion undefeated by her restless thoughts. Yet, still, her mind felt fogged with lethargy. It helped none that the medications Angela had given her didn't do much yet for how badly her head was pounding.

If she wasn’t required here, it would have been painless for her to slip out and avoid the inevitable looks, both equally pitying and disappointed, when the others learned of her involvement.

“As some of you may have already heard, Tekhartha Mondatta was assassinated last night at a peace rally in Kings Row,” Winston explained. While Lena stared down at her hands, the others left in the dark murmured quietly amongst themselves.

“Talon?” Reinhardt questioned, one of his great hands curling into a fist.

“Ain't that the rally you went to, Sunshine?” Asked Jesse, that deep southern drawl like liquid gold in his throat. It took her a fraction of a second longer to realize his question had been directed at her.

Lena’s face lacked its residual mirth as she gave a short nod. She could feel every pair of eyes turn to her; she did not want to look at any one of them - did not think that she could. “Yeah,” she grumbled, not before a soft clear of her throat. “It was the Widowmaker. We fought. I did what I could to stop her, but she got the upperhand. Right damaged my accelerator while she was at it, too. Lined up her shot right bloody through me.”

Winston reached to gently place two large fingers on the curve of her shoulder. For all the years that they had been friends, best friends, he still had the tendency to act as if he might break her. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “We are lucky there were no other casualties that night.”

“Master Zenyatta and I will be traveling to Nepal to be among the Shambali,” Genji informed collectedly. “Mondatta was a great inspiration to us all, and Zenyatta wishes to be with his people in this period of mourning. I would like to accompany him, as not just a protective detail, but as a friend as well.”

“Of course, Genji,” Winston said. “Please, give them all our regards.”

Genji bowed his head in acknowledgment, but remained a silent presence in the doorway of the debriefing room. Lena grit her teeth. She hadn’t seen Zenyatta since the assassination; somehow she knew she would not be able to do so much as look at him if she had.

Jack, inscrutable, spoke up authoritatively. “The police are clashing with civilians and there are riots in the streets. By assassinating Mondatta, they succeeded in their goal to create civil unrest,” he said. “There’s also chatter that Talon has been fixing up a cloaking device, but there hasn’t been any feasible prototype yet, and a hacker collective with connections to Talon is targeting LumeriCo. They’re planning something on a more global scale.”

“Also, thanks to Ms. Song’s streaming we’ve gotten an anonymous tip of one of Talon’s headquarters being settled somewhere in Japan, which we have affirmed as substantial evidence,” Winston said. “Athena, please bring up Kawamura’s data file.”

Atlas News dematerialized from the holoscreen in favor of the personnel file of the person in question, complete with a rectangular identification picture of a round cheeked woman in her mid-forties, streaks of greying hair held back in a tight bun and dark brown eyes. She was pretty, Lena thought, if not a bit strict looking.

“There has been a surge of Talon activity noticed around business districts of Tokyo recently,” Winston explained, frowning. “Aiko Kawamura, chairwoman of the annual Pro-Omnic Rights festival and representative for Tokyo was also assassinated last Thursday. Just in time to leave Japan scrambling for her replacement for this Wednesday’s UN meeting.”

Lena’s shoulders went rigid. “Widowmaker?”

“No confirmation yet. The assassin went unseen, Kawamura was murdered inside of her home at around 0300 hours,” Winston sighed. “But we could assume that the Widowmaker was behind it. Talon only sends their most prized marksman for high priority cases, and Kawamura has supposedly been on their radar for several weeks.”

“But what’s in Japan?” The bridge of Hana’s nose wrinkled with her grimace of confusion. She was leaning back in her chair, swiveling back and forth in a gentle rocking motion. “Why would they set up camp there, of all places? What could they want there?”

“Talon has never specifically targeted Japan,” said Fareeha. “Activity there is relatively small compared to other places of the world. No mass shootings or bombings of any kind. It’s plausible they do not want to attract attention to where they set up their Headquarters. Usually Talon is seen more frequently in the United Kingdom, the States and Russia. No one would suspect them there, especially now that the media is so focused on what’s happening in Mexico and London.”

“If I may add: Japan is the home of many great technological progresses,” supplied Genji, synthetic voice contemplative behind his faceplate. His head inclined, angled toward Winston. “If there is truly talk of cloaking devices, perhaps these advancements are being manufactured there.”

“An excellent point,” Winston agreed.

“If we know where these bastards are, why ain’t we goin’ in guns blazin’?” Mccree asked. “Take ‘em out _en masse_.”

“We hardly make up a damn Strike Team as we are,” Soldier grunted. “Talon is a militant organization with a mass support of international units. Wars have been won against greater odds, but their following outnumbers us too severely to take that chance. Blindly infiltrating their base will get us all killed. Which is why I’ve decided to send Tracer in as our eyes and ears.”

Lena blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“ _Tracer?_ ” Torbjörn echoed. He guffawed incredulously, slapping one of his knees as if he’d been starved of humor for so long that the idea of sending Lena in was the funniest thing he’d heard in weeks. “Little lass hasn’t a single manipulative bone in her body!”

“I am inclined to agree,” Angela said stiffly. She’d gone absolutely rigid in her seat, as though her body was made of stone. “I don’t doubt Lena’s capabilities as an agent, but is there no one else?”

“She is not exactly the...stealth type,” Fareeha added.

“Oi!” Lena crossed her arms, affronted. “I’m right here!”

Mccree leaned to his side and nudged Hana’s arm with his elbow, lips peeled to reveal a wolfish grin. “Smart money’s on Speedy. Whaddya say, kiddo?”

“No way, Eastwood,” Hana responded with a dubious scoff. “I’m not dumb enough to bet against that.”

“It should also be said that Lena is _injured_ and currently out of commission,” said Angela, disregarding the harlequin’s gambling across from her, and while Lena was allayed with their confidence in her, everything about Angela was blatant disapproval, her words washed over with ice. “Allow me to make myself clear when I say that you will _not_ be dismissing my professional opinion as Overwatch’s lead medic and sending an injured agent into the field unless I specifically clear them for active duty.”

Winston shifted his large mass uncomfortably, indecision waging a war on his face. “No, of course not, Doctor,” he placated. “Soldier: 76 and I have discussed this. Preparations will be arranged in the time she is healing.”

“Does anyone care about what I have to say? This is the first time I’m hearin’ of all this,” Lena interrupted, eyebrows climbing at their silence. She shifted, twisted her chair to address her old Commander, and leaned forward. Excitement bubbled in her chest, an insatiable anticipation. The opportunities a mission like this created, albeit dangerous, were endless. Lena saw it less as a chance of redemption against her most recent, catastrophic failure and more as a chance to get close to the Widowmaker, up close and personal. “What’s the play, sir?”

Soldier: 76 seemed relieved at the diversion from Angela’s frigid wrath. “Mock surrender.” Two simple words that spoke volumes. “Talon’s been on the lookout for new recruits; they’re in need for more talented operatives, targeting old Blackwatch agents. They’ll jump at the chance for one of Overwatch’s best ex-agents the moment they have an opening for it. Tracer’s abilities are something they’ll want on their side.”

“You flatter me, love.” Lena eased the tension with a giggle but could not withstand the flush that creeped up her cheeks and ears. Praise from Jack Morrison was a rarity that a part of Lena always clamored for. “I’m in.”

“We can discuss further details in private,” Winston said. “There is a lot you will need to be informed on.”

“This decision is foolhardy, John,” Angela hissed resolutely, leaning forward in her seat. Passionate fire burned in those bright eyes of hers, palm flat against the fiberglass. “To put the lives of one of our youngest agents at risk for information that may not be true hardly seems like appropriate combatant strategizing. I, for one, will absolutely not stand for this recklessness. There are other, _better_ , ways. There are always other ways.”

Fareeha’s prosthetic hand, metallic black, rested on the arm of the doctor’s chair, presumably playing as a gesture to placate her. She was warmth where Angela was aloof; dark eyes the color of coffee beans, inviting and open to discussion in a way her counterpart was not. “We should at least consider all options,” she said. “Ones that may be less dangerous?”

“This is our best course of action,” Jack said firmly. “The decision has been made. There’s always risk, but we need intel, and this is the only way we can get it.”

“You can't just ignore the opposition!” Angela cried indignantly.

Lena cut in, if only just to buffer in case things got ugly. “I can do this, loves,” she reassured. “There's nothin’ to worry about! Have a bit more confidence in me, yeah?”

Somewhere to her right, Torbjörn _hmphed_.

“You are sure about agreeing to this so quickly, liebling?” Reinhardt asked, booming voice subdued with a gentle concern. Lena flashed him a warm smile. “It is a lot to agree to on such short notice.”

“I'm sure big guy,” Lena said. “I want to do whatever I can to help.”

 _I_ **_need_ ** _to help_.

“That’s it, then. It's decided, Tracer will act as our mole,” Winston breathed, surveying everyone’s faces - from an absolutely livid Angela to Hana’s conflicted frown and Mccree’s uncharacteristic silence. “Meeting adjourned.”

Lena, contrary to her previous train of thought, did not go back to her room to sleep once the briefing was over.

Instead she found herself sat on the counter in the kitchen, nursing an awful migraine and a bowl of Honey flavored Lúcio-Oh’s in her hands as a few of the others flitted around, cooking up individual breakfasts and beverages. Most of the team had dispersed after the meeting, all gone their separate ways, save Lena, Hana and Jesse themselves. Winston and Jack had gone off to the lab, likely to strategize more, while Fareeha followed Angela as she stormed off to her office.

She would likely have to speak with her later.

“I can't believe you're gonna go undercover. Like a real _spy_ ,” remarked Lúcio, flashing her a warm smile of pearly whites from the stove. He’d been in the kitchen when they arrived, having just woken up, and offered to make them all pancakes, and while Hana eagerly agreed to it, Jesse just seemed content on a cup of coffee. Lúcio had only been with them for a few weeks, the newest recruit of the bunch since the recall, but he had already become a fast friend of hers - quite literally, at that. “That's crazy shit, girl. Hope you know what you're in for.”

Chewing through a mouthful of cereal, Lena shrugged. “Ang says I have weeks ahead of me until I can get back out there. Leaves plenty of time to prepare, yeah? The commander and I still have to go over all the fancy details later.”

“Talon’s no joke, little lady,” Said Mccree. He was pouring a daring amount of sugar into his coffee mug. “No one’ll blame ya if you back out.”

Lena made a face, and stuck her tongue out at him. One thing about Jesse, despite how dangerously terrifying the man could be, for the bounty on him was so absurdly high for a reason, was that he always knew how to take a quip or two with good spirits. “I can handle the risks, Jess,” Lena argued, though not with chagrin. “I have to do _something._ I can’t just sit around and wait for something to happen, not when I can’t be back at home to help sort out the mess that I made.”

“The mess that the spider woman made, you mean, not you,” Hana huffed. She had one of Lúcio’s headphones over her ear, the other resting against the side of her brown hair. “Anyway, I’m streaming StarCraft later tonight - you still in Lúcio?”

“Hell yeah!” He pumped a fist in the air, his boundless energy contagious. “Don’t have to ask me twice. You should stop by too, Lena. It’ll be a fun!”

“Sure, love!”

Mccree waved his goodbyes, steaming cup of joe in his metallic hand, and left the three agents to themselves in the too cramped kitchen. Lena shoveled another spoonful of cereal into her mouth, and watched the two stars, her family, bicker amongst each other and make bets regarding who would win later that evening.

She would savor these moments: moments where the looming threat of Talon did not exist; only a safe space between friends and family, their worries put on a backburner. Where they could just simply _be._

In a few weeks, Lena would not have this privilege for a long while.

In a few weeks, who knew if she’d still even be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, like I said last chapter - I will be going away this Saturday for a week and a half, so I won’t be able to post next Thursday’s update. which sucks, I know, because we’re just starting to dive into plot a little more, so I’m really sorry about that! also, don’t worry friends, we’ll be seeing Widowmaker soon!
> 
> as much as I may not be too thrilled about how this chapter turned out, I do hope you guys enjoyed it, though. I really want to highlight the team as family dynamic in this fic because I hold that very dear to my heart, so expect a lot of those moments to come. 
> 
> please let me know what you thought and/or any predictions you may have!! remember, comments are worth millions and encourage me to keep writing and updating on a weekly basis! (also, if anyone happens to know how to change the font of something, i.e changing the news article headline in the beginning of this chapter to Courier New, could you please let me know 'cause I'm useless with all this html stuff lol)
> 
> next update’s chapter title preview: Under My Skin


	4. under my skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fareeha is so good

Within the weeks of Lena’s recovery, the preparations have been finalized and repeatedly gone over until it was practically engraved into everyone’s heads.

Fareeha, along with Winston, had meticulously combed through the strategy for any inaccuracies that could possibly thwart their plan and put Lena at risk of getting caught. There were always contingencies to any plan, no matter what it was, but they liked to have all bases covered before committing to something so risky.

With Athena’s help, Talon would be alerted of a false escort and protect mission in Bucharest, Romania for a synthetic artifact that they had been trying to get their hands. There, Tracer would play out a mock surrender; Symmetra and Winston both having worked together to create something of a mental shield against any neurological conditioning. At any instance where it looked as if her life was in danger, as if they would kill her rather recruit her like anticipated, both Soldier, Mccree and Fareeha would step in and help pull her out of it.

And if successful? Lena would have to improvise the rest on her own, so long she is able to meet Mccree at an undisclosed location to pass on any information about hacker collectives or cloaking devices. Fareeha did not like being so in the dark, and neither did Winston, but neither of them had much a say.

So, the evening before they would fly out to Romania now that Angela had cleared Lena for active duty, Fareeha bid her farewells to Winston and exited his lab to head for the kitchen. They had both missed dinner, although Winston had munched on several peanut butter and banana sandwiches while rehearsing the most recent additions to the plan with her, and if she had stayed any longer she might have died of starvation. Lena, who had been briefed more than any of them, had long ago taken off.

It was Reinhardt’s night to cook. He’d promised to leave her a plate in the microwave for when she had time.

No way was she going to pass that up. The gentle giant certainly had amazing culinary skills. He, out of all of them, made the best dishes that acquired to everyone’s tastes.

Closer to the Watchpoint kitchen, she was able to detect two distinctive voices carrying through the open door and out into the hallway.

“You are making a mistake.” Angela. As opposed to her icy perversity in the conference room, now there had been a fire in her voice. “You cannot stand there and tell me that what you are doing is the best route to take. It’s - it’s reckless! Not only does it endanger your life, but the others as well!”

“We’ve gone over this!” Lena sounded exasperated. “You better than anybody should understand why this is so important! If Talon gets their hands on this tech it’s all over and you know it! They’ll have the upperhand at everything they do, and we’ll always be ten steps behind them if we just let this happen.” A pause. “See, from where I’m standing, it seems like you just don’t want me doing this because you don’t _trust_ me enough to get it done.”

Fareeha hovered wordlessly in the archway. Neither woman seemed to acknowledge her presence, save for the way Angela’s eyes drew toward the soft shuffle of her footsteps before zeroing back in on Lena half a second later, who stood across from her. It was just the two of them. Everyone else must have gone to their respective rooms or common areas. Fareeha suspected Lena and Angela hung back to clean the dishes when an argument started.

“That is a reach,” Angela rebutted, shaking her head.

“Oh, is it?” Lena scoffed with disbelief. “You treat me like I’m a child, like I’m not capable of making my own decisions or doing anything without somehow screwing it up!”

“Don’t you dare get upset with me for worrying about my family!” Angela fired back, pointing her index finger at her accusingly. “You consistently throw yourself in danger at every opportunity you get and _I’m_ always the one there to help you get back onto your feet! Do you think I have nothing better to do with my time than to constantly worry that one day you might go out and end up dead somewhere in an alley without any of us knowing?"

“Christ, Angela! All I’m asking is that you have a little faith in me, but apparently that’s too bloody hard for you to do!” Lena shouted.

“And all I ask is that you stop for one damn _second_ and think something through before you agree to go ahead and put your life at risk like it doesn’t matter!” Angela shot back.

“You can’t expect me to just sit back and let everyone else do the work when I can be doing something to help!” Lena snapped. Her voice had substantially lowered, but was full of spitefulness. “Not like you did with Amélie, right?”

Angela physically recoiled as if she’d been slapped.

“Okay, that’s _enough._ ” Fareeha placed herself between the two, outstretching both of her arms. The fingers of her flesh hand brushed up against Angela’s shoulder, giving her a gentle nudge back. Her voice was firm enough, loud enough, for the two women to fall silent. She turned her head to Lena; her freckled cheeks and ears were blossomed red in her indigence. “Go take a walk and cool off. Leave before you say something else you will regret.”

She left no room for argument.

It was apparent Lena’s anger and morality were waging a war within her by the look in her eyes; both full of rage and shame. Lena was often quick to speak before she thought - she had a mouth on her, and was called _Spitfire_ time and time again for a reason. Her small fists clenched and unclenched at her sides before she straightened her back and stormed out of the kitchen without another word.

The door slammed with an echoing _smack_ behind her.

Angela flinched.

The previous irritation on her face had disappeared. She closed her eyes and ran a hand over her brow, pinching the bridge of her nose between her index finger and her thumb as she drew in a deep breath. Fareeha watched the tension gradually ebb away from her shoulders, her stature no longer rigid with defensiveness and instead slumped akin to something of defeat.

Fareeha lowered her arms to her sides, puffing out her cheeks with a huff. “Are you alright?”

“I have work to do,” Angela said, voice crisp. Fareeha blinked in surprise, a worried furrow to her brow as the older woman briskly turned on her heel and walked away from her. The distance between them felt huge.

Angela halted in the doorway, turning her head to address her, but keeping her eyes to the ground. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just - I would like to be alone. I’ll see you tonight.”

She gave Fareeha no time to respond and quietly closed the door in her wake.

Fareeha was left alone.

* * *

 

When Angela returned to their shared quarters later that evening, it was clear her altercation with Lena was still upsetting her.

In the few hours that had passed since then, Fareeha had respected Angela’s wish for privacy. The last thing she wanted to do was overstep and cause an unnecessary fight. Fareeha, more than anybody, understood the need to be alone very well. So she had kept to the Watchpoints gym. It was small and not ideal, considering how fairly new the recall had been, and there was very little that she could do - so she had finished up within an hour and ran the perimeter of the base twice before hitting the showers.

By the time she finished, wringing her hair out with a baby blue towel, Angela was there and already dressed for bed, wringing her hands in her lap, legs hidden beneath the comforter Fareeha, without saying anything, hooked the towel on the door and moved to her own side of the bed - the left side, closest to the window. She twisted to touch the small screen to kill the lights before laying on her side, propping herself up with her elbow, facing Angela’s silhouette.

She decided she had had enough with this silence.

Fareeha’s palm, rough with callus from years at war, soothed over the dip between Angela’s shoulder blades, fingertips tracing over her spine. “Talk to me, Angel,” she murmured. “What are you thinking?”

“What am I thinking?” Angela repeated with a humorless laugh. Her head inclined, turned to meet Fareeha’s gaze - a sudden fire brewed in the sea blue of her own, it’s intensity staggering, but not at all surprising. It was as strong and passionate it’d been earlier that evening. “I believe I should be asking all of _you_ that, Fareeha. How could you possibly agree with this? How can you be so - so indifferent?”

Fareeha debated over how to respond with caution, her hand stilling its motions. “I don’t agree with it,” she settled on. Her voice was calm, carried the stoic restraint of a trained soldier. “There are better ways. But you and I both know that Jack is an unmovable force, and something tells me Lena would find a way to do this regardless of our orders. She’s a stubborn girl, hard-headed. But I guess you already know that better than I do.”

A sigh passed the sliver between Angela’s pink lips, resigned, _tired_ . “If by some miracle Lena call pull this off,” she begun, eyes flickering up from her wrung hands and meeting Fareeha’s silent gaze. Beneath the wall Angela had built around herself, stowing away her vulnerability to appear strong for everyone else, there was a genuine fear in her eyes that only a few, such as Fareeha herself, were privy to see. “Talon is going to _destroy_ her. I have seen it done to the best of people. They are not afraid to stoop to any low to get what they want, and they inevitably will.”

She dared not mention Gérard and Amélie LaCroix, or Gabriel Reyes, but Fareeha got the hint very clearly.

“I would give anything not to have this happen," Angela continued, for Fareeha had fallen silent, her hand dragging down the length of her spine and settling in the soft curve of her lower back.

“I know,” Fareeha murmured. She leaned forward, pressing her lips against the smooth skin of Angela’s spine. As she pulled away, she saw her shoulders droop, ever slightly. “But you can’t avoid it. And arguing with Lena is not going to make you feel any better. You should talk with her tomorrow. If she leaves while you two are on a bad note...you will regret it.” Fareeha knew that sometimes, with Angela, you had to be straightforward to get the point across. “Before I left for the Egyptian army, I got into an argument like that with my mother. We sent letters back and forth the years after, but it was never the same. That was the last time I ever saw her alive. I’ve regretted that fight every day since then.”

Angela turned her head away, the fire in her eyes dismal, and stared off into the darkness of their quarters. She was quiet for a while, contemplative. “Ana was very proud of you,” she said at last.

“Funny,” Fareeha said lightly. “She never told me that.”

“No, maybe not,” Angela sighed. “She just told everybody else instead.”

“So will you talk to Lena about how you feel?”

There was another pause, though this time less extensive than the last. Angela’s eyes found hers instead, and there was a slight sheen to them, as if glazed over with tears. “I will,” she said, frowning. “I will speak with her.”

Her hand moved from Angela’s back, reached up to tuck a loose strand of blonde fringe behind one of her ears with amiable care. Fareeha’s mouth pulled into a soft, close-lipped smile. “Good,” she said. “Try and get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

Angela scoffed, but there was no venom in her voice. “I don't think I can sleep.”

“Tell me how I can help you, then.”

The mattress shifted as Angela turned, taking Fareeha’s face between both of her gentle hands and closing the distance between them. Their lips glided together as they’d done many times before; Angela’s were familiar and warm, wet, tasting of salt and a little like peppermint toothpaste. Fareeha’s hands gripped her waist as Angela straddled her hips, back curved so their chests were touching.

Angela pulled away, their lips making a soft noise as their parted. She kept the distance between them marginal; lips brushing up against the corner of her mouth when she spoke.

“ _Distract me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you heard any distant screaming recently, that might have been me. A lot of very important documents (18 to be exact…) with lots of story ideas and pre-written chapters glitched out and suddenly deleted from my computer and I can’t recover them - so now I have to write some of them all over from memory. So, I hope you enjoyed this unintended chapter I wrote up in 40 minutes as a drama filler until I can finish up the other ones. There may have been some frustrated tears.
> 
> your support has been so great so far, guys!! I love to read what you guys think and discuss it with you, so please leave your comments down below!!!! aside from here, come talk to me on tumblr!
> 
> widowmaker will finally make her grand appearance next chapter ;) get ready, it’s gonna be a big one.
> 
> Next chapter title preview: Grotesque
> 
> (EDIT: forgot Thanksgiving was next thursday so I'll be updating a little late! sorry guys!)


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